


could've knocked me out with a feather

by astroturfwars



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, drunk makeouts, i just needed an excuse to write kisses tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1731395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astroturfwars/pseuds/astroturfwars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“C’mon, Sawamura. Don’t want you overworking yourself,” Kuroo had said, hand on hip, swinging his keys on their ring around his finger. He’d looked <i>good</i>, as usual, all long legs and slim hips and coaxing smirk, and Daichi’d thought <i>fuck it, why not</i>.  “Let’s go have a little fun.”</p><p>“Fine,” Daichi’d said, and from there it had been simple: Kuroo had beckoned, eyes bright, and Daichi--after a bit of bickering--had come along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	could've knocked me out with a feather

Drinking with Kuroo is inadvisable. 

Daichi awards that theory the same esteem he would any other put forth by the scientific community, because it’s been tried and tested and proven true more times than Daichi wants to--or _can_ \--remember. There’s plenty of evidence to support his theory: Daichi keeps a running tally of clothes stained, items lost, and bad decisions made, and the numbers are, unfortunately, astronomical. 

After almost a year of repeated testing, the results are conclusive: drinking with Kuroo is a Bad Idea. 

So Daichi _knew_ , from a wealth of past experience, that he really should’ve ditched Kuroo hours ago, when he’d showed up in Daichi’s room at half-past-nine and told Daichi to put down his textbook before his eyesight got any worse.

“C’mon, Sawamura. Don’t want you overworking yourself,” Kuroo had said, hand on hip, swinging his keys on their ring around his finger. He’d looked _good_ , as usual, all long legs and slim hips and coaxing smirk, and Daichi’d thought _fuck it, why not_. “Let’s go have a little fun.”

“Fine,” Daichi’d said, and from there it had been simple: Kuroo had beckoned, eyes bright, and Daichi--after a bit of bickering--had come along.

That’s how Daichi and Kuroo end up half-stumbling down the hallway of their dorm building sometime after one in the morning, arguing in poorly hushed voices, leaning up against each other for support. Kuroo’s arm is hooked through his, hand on Daichi’s elbow, and he’s using what is likely all of his forward momentum to keep himself upright as he pulls Daichi down the hallway. 

“My place is closer,” Daichi argues, glancing over his shoulder as they pass by his room. He makes a valiant effort to pull Kuroo back down the hallway and accomplishes nothing but stepping on the back of Kuroo’s shoe. Kuroo walks right out of it, though, so Daichi counts that as a battle won. 

Kuroo takes an unsteady step backwards, shoves his foot back into his shoe, and gives Daichi what would be a withering look if he weren’t simultaneously trying to blink the world into focus. As it is, Kuroo manages to look something like a wet kitten--mildly discontent and, unfortunately, very cute--especially when he wrinkles his nose before he says, "What, d’you really wanna climb up into your bunk right now?"

In Daichi's imagination, the ladder up to his top bunk stretches on endlessly, steep and daunting and twisting in improbable ways. Just the thought of it makes him dizzy; he pauses for a second, presses his free hand to his forehead, tries to quit swaying long enough to let the brief sensation of nausea pass, and mumbles, “...shit.”

"Yeah, that ain't such a good idea." Kuroo transfers his grip from Daichi's elbow to his wrist, tugs him out of standstill and in what is likely--okay, _definitely_ \--the direction of his room. Daichi’s made the short trip from his room to Kuroo’s enough times to recognize the number on the door even when he’s blurry-eyed and swaying, which probably says something about-- _something_ , Daichi knows it means something, but he’s not in the state of mind to figure out exactly what. He chooses not to think about it; instead he watches Kuroo fumble with his keys for a solid minute before he gets the door open and pushes Daichi inside. 

Kuroo's hands are on Daichi’s back as soon as the door swings shut behind them, steering him toward the bottom bunk with impatient little pushes. Daichi turns around and shuffles backward, nearly trips over his own feet, catches one of Kuroo's hands in his and says between what are most definitely _not_ giggles, "Hey, quit that-- _stop_ \--"

The back of his knees hit the edge of the bed and Daichi yelps, startled, fists his hands in Kuroo’s sweater and tries to stay upright. Kuroo loses his balance easy, though, and pitches forward, kneeing Daichi in the side on the way down. He ends up with his face in the crook of Daichi's neck, laughing, breath warm on his skin--and Daichi's heating up already from the alcohol, but this is different. Heat like this sinks into his bones, makes his face go hot, makes him shift and nudge his legs apart to accommodate Kuroo between his knees. 

Kuroo's still laughing a little when he raises himself up on his elbows. There's definitely a wet spot on Daichi's neck where Kuroo's mouth had been and Daichi smiles, half because he can’t help it and half because the more lucid part of his brain is _laughing_ at him. He registers, somewhere, that this is something he's wanted for weeks, and isn't it funny that it's happening now, like this? 

"D’you ever," Daichi begins, eyes on the slick curve of Kuroo's mouth, watching as it stretches into a lopsided smile. He knows he should say _something_ , something good, but he comes up short and starts over again. How is he supposed to say he’s been thinking about kissing Kuroo like this for longer than he wants to remember? "D’you ever--"

"Yeah," Kuroo says, half-smiling down at him, and leans in. 

Daichi’s not entirely sure how he expected that to play out. What _happens_ is that Kuroo puts his weight on one elbow and fits his other hand to the back of Daichi's neck--which is pretty smooth, really--and Daichi’s prepared to be quietly impressed (as in his heart is beating double-time and he feels a little like he might pass out, though he’ll blame the latter on the alcohol), but Kuroo goes slightly cross-eyed, misses spectacularly, and ends up nosing at Daichi’s cheek. He slurs a curse against Daichi’s skin and breathes out, open-mouthed and slow, like he’s trying to steady himself. 

It’s kind of cute, really, and Daichi wants to say so, but what comes out is an amused, “You okay?”

“Better off than you.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Daichi says, affronted, “what’s _that_ supposed to mean,” and he’s trying to scowl, but Kuroo is laughing against the corner of his mouth. That’s more than a little distracting, especially when Kuroo kisses him there, almost gentle, before pulling away.

“Your face’s all pink,” Kuroo says, expression caught between a smirk and something much softer. His teasing would work better if his cheeks weren’t going dark too. “I thought you were made of sturdier stuff.”

Daichi rolls his eyes. He immediately regrets it; it takes him a good five seconds to focus on Kuroo’s face again. “Whatever. It took you three tries to get the key in the lock.”

“Two, actually. It took me twice to get it right,” Kuroo says. He leans close again, but Daichi moves at the same time and their teeth click together and it’s more amusing than painful, really, especially when Kuroo hisses and jerks back. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Daichi snorts, and Kuroo swears at the ceiling of his bunk. “What, third time’s the charm, right?”

Kuroo narrows his eyes, because that’s almost a challenge, and says, “Yeah, it is.”

This time, when he leans down to kiss Daichi yet again, he hits his mark. 

Daichi can count the number of kisses they’ve shared on one hand, but he opens his mouth for Kuroo like this is the hundredth time, easy and embarrassingly quick. Kuroo notices, because he _always_ does; there’s a smug little noise sitting just behind his teeth, and Daichi bites at his lip just hard enough to make him hiss instead. Daichi likes that noise better, but what he likes best is the soft hush as Kuroo breathes deep and settles into him like the sun seeps into the ground at high noon. It’s a small sound, quiet, but it sends a wave of sudden warmth flooding all the way out into Daichi’s fingertips, leaves him shivering and eager under the pressure of Kuroo’s weight and hands and mouth.

Kuroo kisses him again, and again, until Daichi’s toes are curling and his hips are coming up off the mattress and _god_ , he’s not even being _touched_ , and yet he feels a little like he could float right out of his skin if Kuroo weren’t pinning him down. It’s got to be that goddamn unattended crush, the combination of alcohol and ill-advised feelings and _Kuroo_ making him dizzy and pliant; that would explain why all Daichi does is groan when Kuroo pulls away to suck a series of hickies into the column of his neck. He knows those are going to bruise badly, but there’s something about the way Kuroo lays marks down on his skin like pins on a map, careful and precise and deliberate, that overrides any objections Daichi might have had. He keeps quiet instead, tilts his head back and lets Kuroo work, mouth sure and steady as he kisses his way down Daichi’s throat. 

Kuroo groans, and Daichi cracks open an eye to squint down at him, watches him frown and drop a wet kiss into the dip between Daichi’s collarbones before he pushes himself up on his elbows. He doesn’t miss the look Kuroo gives him--which probably isn’t meant to be as openly fond as it is--as he shifts over and flops down sideways, saying, “My knees hurt. Roll over, would you?”

Daichi _tries_. He tries, he really does, but when he opens his eyes fully the world is spinning like it might careen off its own axis, and the feeling of impending unconsciousness reintroduces itself. What little sensibility he retains tells him that movement is _not_ a good idea, but his hormones make a convincing argument for more kissing; the result is a half-assed flip that makes Daichi’s stomach twist as he rolls onto his side and knees Kuroo in the leg. 

“Shit,” Daichi grunts, working his elbow out from beneath his body. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

Kuroo rubs at his thigh and shoots for a wronged expression; he misses, but hits _pissy kitten_ right on the nose. “Graceful as always, Sawamura.”

“Shut up.”

“Snappy,” Kuroo says. He shifts, throws his leg over Daichi’s, pokes at one of the soon-to-be bruises on Daichi’s neck. “These are gonna look good.” 

Daichi knows he should be more upset about that than he is. He’ll respond appropriately in the morning, when what he remembers of tonight hits him full force. For now, though, he lets Kuroo’s hand settle on his skin, heavy and warm, lets his blood go calm and his heart go slow, and says, “I should punch you for that.”

“You won’t, though.” Kuroo wriggles closer, gives Daichi a red-lipped smirk. “You _liked_ it.”

“Shut the hell up,” Daichi groans. He tucks himself under Kuroo’s chin to avoid that damn grin and shoves one of the pillows into Kuroo’s face. “Go to sleep, dumbass.” 

Kuroo mostly complies. Daichi can still hear him snickering into the pillow, but he’s too tired to argue. Besides, the sound of it is kind of nice, and if it helps lull him to sleep--well, Kuroo doesn’t have to know that. 

\--

Daichi wakes up with a splitting headache, a sore neck, and a mouth drier than the calculus lecture he’s undoubtedly slept through, judging by the sunlight filtering through the blinds. 

He wakes up under Kuroo’s arm, tucked so close he feels rather than sees the steady breaths Kuroo takes in his sleep. 

It’s eight in the morning. Daichi’s exhausted and his head is throbbing and he’ll probably be sick later, but Kuroo shifts, pulls him closer, and Daichi thinks that maybe, for once, drinking with Kuroo wasn’t such a bad idea.


End file.
